Rebman Court tonight is an interesting affair. No one quite knows what to expect and its clearly a bit more lavish than a regular daily Court. All rumor mongers tell of a meeting between Corwin, Ryika Ygrayne and Martin the day before and the agreement that leaked out before it's time. The mirrors, it seems, are doing what they do best. Later that evening, Martin made an effort though staff to explain some things but it fell short, a hasty add-on. What gives? The populous nearly rioted and people are filling the throne room well before Court is about to start to ensure they get a good position. The Princess can't really be leaving can she? It's got to be some kind of trick? Some kind of Ygrayne trick. Oh that tricksy house.. yeah that's right. An Ygrayne was involved... The hubbub of worried discussion doesn't end throughout the day. Indeed, common people might even be hoarding rotten jellyfish to toss over the noblemen's heads....or so the rumor goes. Displeasure, dissent... the people aren't pleased. The nobles may be far less judgemental, however but friendly faces... they are few. Some too scared to be anything other than neutral. Others wise to keep their mouths shut and some heckling away. Clearly something went WRONG yesterday with a capital W. Luckily the Military hasn't got any issues with backing Martin and keep crowd control in check.
Miriam must have already been in the palace, given her guards are in the throne room early. Apparently, their job is to hold a place for the Tir princess right at the front, and anyone trying to muscle in is given a very unpleasnt look. She only makes an appearance shortly before it's to start though, and moves immediately to join them. A very few are greeted on her way to her place, Eric being one of them.
Martin sits on the throne, watching everyone. He is wearing a sort of tight smile that masks whatever it is he is feeling inside. His hair is a little less messy, but the way he positions his body belies a subtle offensive mode, no Ruler should appear defensive for that leads to ruin and the despair of all. The Court Herald approaches the throne and talks briefly with Martin. This is a sign that Court is ready to begin. A sound is struck against glass nearby and makes a noise like a gong signaling the beginning.
Meijanri quietly takes her place near enough to Martin that she might consult him, if need should arise, and though she gives him her best reassuring smile she does not try to pester him for once. As much fun as she's had over the year disrupting the decorum of the Rebman palace, this is not the time.
Nerida isn't looking to consult anyone, but she does ease closer to the throne, and if necessary, politely push her way to the front. Martin gets a grin, as do a few others, such as Merrisol and Eric. And yes, she's dressed in the Rebman style. Because someone has to be, right?
"Princess," Eric greets Miriam. He's moving towards the front of the crowd not long after. He, too, is dressed in Rebman fashion. And if Martin does not force the issue, he's even armed. Though the heay bastard sword is probably not typical to Rebma.
Merrisol sits in the upper gallery with Maggie, leaning at the edge to watch and listen with attentive concern. They wave to those noticed in the growing crowd, Nerida, Meijanri, Miriam.. but they are here to wait in silence for what Martin has to say about all this.
Meijanri tries her very best not to look like a sultry maiden lounging at the base of Martin's throne, but, well... it takes some serious effort. She winks at Maggie and Merrisol, trying to act professional and courtly.
A quiet arrival, out of the way, in a gallery small, generally unused, and theoretically unnoticed. Fiona is simply there. Watching.
Miriam waits, looking very serious. Her attention is mostly on Martin, rather than any looking around.
The High Herald calls for quiet in the room signaling that the first orders of business are about to be announced and it may not yet be the issue that is the burning question of the day... It is court, however, and there are certain things to be addressed. Proper order must be observed. Martin may acknowledge people here and there, his Uncle of course, Miriam, Meijanri and his friends. The Herald taps the ground. "The court calls his Royal highness, Eric to the throne." A number of illustrious titles are rattled out but nothing direct and mostly ambiguous in nature.
The smile Eric gives to one and all neve fades; a thousand watts of confidence to shine for the people of Rebma and light their way. The former King of Amber makes his way to the throne, moving with the ease of a practiced outlander - somewhat shy of a native's grace. He inclines his head when at the throne, but he neither bows or takes a knee.
Nerida is just a face in the crowd, really, but she's watching with avid curiosity, and not just the pair of royal men. The crowd is watched, too.
"The Crown recognizes the services done to Rebma by his Royal Highness and declares from this day forward that he is recognized as a Royal Advisor on the High Council to the Throne." The Herald speaks from a tablet in his hand. Martin nods to the Herald. He does not elaborate on exactly what Eric will be advising for, but a badge of office is presented.
Eric faces Martin while the declaration is made. "Thank you, Regent," he says to his nephew. "It is an honor." He seems to be keeping things short and sweet tonight.
It's Court and Corwin was expected, having had his presence requested and as such, he encounters little difficulty in making his way through the archway and into the throne room proper. He manages to hear that particular proclaimation and it draws a quick shake of his head and a flash of a smirk before he's leaning in to murmer something to Syeire, who seems to have accompanied him. That done, he's simply swimming and weaving his way up, around and through the crowd so that he can begin to approach the throne, caring little for proper protocol, for even before he begins to reach that point that would cross him into the 'recognized' area, he's lifting his voice to call out, "Court? Really, Nephew? If I did not know better, I would think that you are stalling."
"Brother," Eric greets Corwin before taking up his spot near the throne. Corwin gets the same smile as everyone else. It doesn't even look like a threatening expression on Eric's face. Well, no more than usual.
Meijanri looks up to Martin, and then back to Corwin, and over to Eric, and though she's really trying her very best to look courtly and composed she has the growing look of someone who is in over her head.
Fiona's expression doesn't change with Corwin's arrival. Though she does stay where she is, watching. Her head tilts slowly.
Enid slips into the back of the throne room, dressed as any other Rebman. She doesn't mingle. She doesn't talk. Apparently she's just here to watch and to listen.
Quinlan arrives...in exquisitely embroidered silk. That it's also stormsilk is, well, probably just natural healthy paranoia when so many powerful people get squished into a room with insufficient beer. Calmly and quietly he makes his way over to Fiona, and a slot within arm's reach. Politely wide eyed and attentive.
"Brother," offers Corwin to Eric, though it's clearly more of an aside, for his attention is still focused upon Martin. Moving further through the crowd, he finally breeches free of it and his gaze promptly shifts in the direction of the Regent's guards before looking back to the man himself, a smirk dancing to his lips once again, "To discuss? Really? And here I thought we were going to have drinks again." His shoulders lift into a half shrug as if disappointed by that shattered prospect, "But here you are and here I am, so perhaps you might start talking as to why you felt the need to call me here."
Syeira hovers in her vantage point. Looking from person to person in the throne room, to up by the throne to see the goings on between Martin and Corwin. Having brought her own refreshment with her, she takes a sip.
Nerida shifts a little closer, which probably isn't wise, but she seems determined to not miss a word spoken if she can help it.
Quinlan's arrival gets a nod from Fiona, acknowledging his presence.
"Uncle. your coming here to seek your daughter is admirable and we appreciate that you care for her." Martin says with a very slightly hard edged tone. "After all this time and we are pleased that you have taken an interest." Oh, that royal we. Isn't it nice to be legitimately able to use that? Yes, yes it is. Honor first. One must admit to making a slight error in judgement. Someone telling the truth? Whodathunk it? "Yesterday, you took quite by surprise coming to our Palace with your request and we admit we ought to have requested time to think." Most likely, that was part of the plan, if Corwin had a plan.. right? "And so even as we first thought it would be a good thing to allow you time with your daughter away from Rebma, our people and advisors, clearly do not agree. It is with regret that we must decline the request. We do however, permit you to visit your daughter in Rebma as often as you desire, under controlled circumstances." Magnanimous of him, isn't it? He keeps his eyes on Corwin, lifting his head just slightly as one with power does.
Eric doesn't fold his hands behind his back in a military at-rest, but he does the closest thing he can in Rebma without threatening his watery balance. His smile might turn just a little more smug.
Corwin at least listens to what Martin has to say, though his gaze does flit from guard to guard to Eric before reversing again and when it settles back upon Martin, there's a single step forward, "How delightfully /considerate/ of you, Nephew, to arrange for such time to be permitted with /my daughter/." Another step forward, "But that is not the arrangement that we spoke of and agreed to. But I can understand the pressure and stress you must be under while trying to fill in for Moire. So I will give you one more chance." Now, there's a half turn of his body, "Give me my daughter." Or else? Well, that's left unsaid.
Meijanri's eyes widen as things start to turn ugly. Her upper body lifts enough that she looks to be sitting up, but her tail slowly coils beneath her. The very tip of her tongue passes her lips for a split second.
Nerida's brows lift and she looks between the trio of royals. She doesn't move any closer, because, well, that'd be stupid.
Quinlan's eyebrows go up into his *hairline*. He flicks a finger or two, glancing sidelong at his mother to see what her reaction is.
Miriam's guards tense, looking ready to move if needed. One of Miriam's hands comes to rest on each of their arms though, and they remain still. She watches Corwin carefully.
Syeira raises a hint of a brow watching the goings on. Looking around the room gauging the reactions and then back toward Corwin. Slight movements keeping her stationary in location to continue to watch.
Oh Martin is not above using all the skill he's gathered over the years to flash as a golden god to throngs of millions of screaming fans. He doesn't rise from the throne, but somehow he throws his presence into the room down like a gauntlet. "I am Moire." He says, throwing his voice to fill the whole room. "By her hand during this time I am Rebma. I am her vessel, her voice, I am the Sea and everything in it and what I speak is law. And today, I have heard my people and I have given you my altered terms." Pray I don't alter it further... "And so shall your answer be given and we politely request that you accept." He settles back on the throne. "No."
Perhaps quite conspicuously... an illusion, brief and bright, above the heads of the court and since most are looking at *Martin*, out of their sight: A stunned tanuki with balls the size of basketballs. Then it poofs, the witty among us might actually catch it.
Fiona stirs slightly, letting herself start to drift a little closer, her expression still neutral.
Near the throne, Eric stirs just enough that his presence is added to that of Martin. Support, lended.
Meijanri remains very still, staring at Corwin, unable to see the giant stones of the strange animal, or those of the man names Moire whom she sits beside.
On some inobvious cue from Miriam, her guards both salute Martin as a show of loyalty. The princess nods her support to Martin.
From up in the gallery, Maggie flashes looks to others of her crew scattered througout the crowd. Though the looks are silent, their meaning is divined by the crew. They know the drill. Assist the guards in maintaining order. As she glances around, the illusion is noted and a faint smile begins and is gone. Turning to look back at her cousin on the throne, she nods once.
Merrisol slides forward on his seat in the upper gallery, arms at the railing's edge. He's gotten over the surprise of the altered agreement - face it though, that contract was all but nullified - only to get treated to Dat Speech. He'd start a Slow Clap if he knew what it was. Instead, he looks at Maggie briefly and perches at the edge of his seat as though ready to vault the rail at the next moment.
Near the sidelines of the various petitioners, a small contingent of citizens who had been trying to hold their own amongst the nobles, are watching the current situation unfold with bedazzled countenances. One of them is sent ducking off to get the word out to the streets.
Does Corwin actually yawn as Martin begins to perform his little bout of theatrics? It would seem so and when his nephew is finished, there's a slight incline of his head, "I will agree, you are her vessel, but you are certainly not Moire, no matter how much you might claim to be. And you will always be sitting in her shadow, Nephew, no matter how much you use her name to lend weight to your words." There's a moment of silence from him as his gaze just shifts about those immediately around him and when he returns his attention to Martin, it's to offer, "I'm afraid that I must ..." In an instant his hand drops to the hilt of his sword, drawing that black blade from the sheath to hold it before him. The sword seems almost indistinct were one to look at it. One moment it might be a fine longsword, the next a simple cutlass and the next a thin shortsword, ".. refuse your altered agreement."
Nerida's gaze drops to Corwin's sword, her head tilting as her brow furrows lightly.
Fiona drifts closer still, eyeing that blade as it changes shape so easily. Her brow raises as a weapon is drawn, and her head tilts.
Syeira's eyes widen as the one she came with draws a sword in the middle of court, nodding slowly, as that pretty much trumps any antics she might have done to entertain herself. Taking another sip of her drink.
RPG: Fiona begins to radiate Order using Pattern Stabilization (PAT-PS).
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By calling the Pattern to mind, and concentrating on its image, the character can project an invisible, intangible field; in the outdoors, this is a sphere with a radius roughly double that of the character's outstretched arms (or alternatively, "scene distance"), and indoors, it fills the room. Within this field:
* No one can shift shadow or shadow-walk.
* Probability and shadow manipulation does not work.
* The Black Road's power is dormant.
* All Chaos abilities are suppressed (although, unless the gift says it doesn't work in the presence of abilities like this, this can be contested; this character can use this gift for a bonus, and the opponent must use Force or Resolve).
* Randomness is suppressed. (When this is on via +radiate, any comparison done in the room automatically has a much-reduced random factor.)
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"Put that filth away, Corwin," Eric says now, as if offended more by Gram's presence than anything. He draws the heavy bastard sword at his own side, its metal white and shining. The thing seems to almost glow.
Meijanri is glad it isn't up to her to stop this, because she looks about ready to pass out. Her hand trembles near the hilt of her dagger, then falls away again, and hovers near. Meanwhile her tail is working on its own plan, pushing her away from Corwin and that naked blade.
With all the sword-drawing and posturing it's easy for someone to get lost in the background. And that's just what Enid does. Expression a carefully-schooled neutral, she watches the three with more than casual curiosity. And she continues to do nothing but watch.
"Then you have made your choice." Martin seems to be slightly saddened but not surprised. "As have I. The Rebman People are mine and as such, I champion them." As he rises from the throne the ripples of the water drift way from him and glitter very slightly against the silvery wave-like threads of his vest. He has two swords to choose from, but there is one that is made to counter terribly squiggly things such that he faces. A very nice, long silver pattern blade, the essence of Tir infused into it, the very place he champions, with a Princess nearby. He rests his scabbard on the chair to give him more movement but he could actually use both swords if he wanted to. "You will not take what is theirs from this city." He holds up his hand to the rest of the room. "Stay your weapons." He orders. "This is My Grandmother's Throne to Defend. I am charged with it. You wish to make your point, Uncle. I -will- fight you."
Quiet attentive watching is an excellent course of action, and the only that Ryika has subscribed to since the beginning. She drifts quietly nearer to where Enid does exactly the same thing.
Quinlan is, for once, not watching alpha predators baring fang and raising hackle. He's watching his mother, with a little smile.
Miriam nods as Martin draws the sword of her people. She moves then to have a better view of things, her guards remaining to either side of her.
Syeira hangs back, looking around watching what everyone else is doing and reactions. Observing seems a fine idea since, silly her, didn't bring any weapons.
Nerida doesn't, perhaps, want to stick around and watch Martin and Corwin fight. She shakes her head and turns, heading out of the throne room, leaving the crowd behind.
Enid glances over to Ryika when she approaches, offering the younger woman a small smile. Looking back to the Amberites facing off in the throne room, her expression returns to neutral.
Maggie blinks as something changes. She draws in a 'breath' of the local watery varient, frowns slightly and tracks her attention to Quinlan. Seeing his expression and the direction of his gaze, she turns to glance at Fiona. Well now. Hello there, Aunt. Then, realization dawns and she, too, smiles a little before leaning over to speak softly to Merrisol.
Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie says, "See the lady down by Quinlan? I think that must be Aunt Fiona. She is doing something magical. I can't tell what, but it does not 'smell' malicious."
As Martin begins to rise from his throne, Corwin simply stands his ground, his gaze shifting to the guards that are present in the room, that smirk still holding to his lips, "I will have her, Nephew, whether today or tomorrow. But she will be mine. I have forseen it." There's a slight flick of his wrist so that he can test the weight of his blade beneath the water and perhaps to give Martin just that much more time to ready himself, "You have balls, Martin, and for that I promise to leave you in one piece with nothing more then a lesson learned." He's thought about how he's going to get out of here, right?
Fiona is still quiet, concentrating. Still, her presence is felt.
Privately, to Maggie, Merrisol tilts his head. "Yes..? Hum. Didn't we meet Fiona at the Embassy.. and again in Kitezh when Robert.." he trails off. Well Maggie was off guarding Martin the one time, and trumping with Anderson the others.. so, technically no. "I'm going to presume she is being magical on Martin's behalf.."
Merrisol listens to Maggie, tilts his head closer to reply, while monitoring the action sidelong. Not that anyone is moving quickly enough for it to really be called action. But it is so, even in the stillness of those two duelists, there are things worth seeing.
Martin may resemble Random there nearly completely with the smile/smirk as he tosses his hair slightly and moves into position. Being well-used to underwater fighting and fluid 3d environments he doesn't need that much time to be ready. His leg bends backward slightly to balance the sword which gleams under the eerie Rebman light. He's only distracted a little bit by the knowledge of whose in the room and well, he's challenged and it's accepted. "Rebma's not Amber, Uncle." He reminds with a simple chuckle. "The current may surprise you. Perhaps I will teach /you/ a thing or two." He moves his free hand to lay it back and up and then crooks his fingers in a 'bring it' motion and expects the crowd to give them space.
Enid leans in close to whisper something to Ryika, the two women speaking softly now.
Maggie nods to Merrisol's reply, though looks a tad confused by some of it. Then she works it out and darts him a concerned nod. Her gaze remains on the three blade weilding Royals below, for one should not discount Eric's brilliantly glowing sword. Messy.
Ryika leans in to murmur softly with Enid.
Meijanri has managed to back a fair way away from the fight but she can still see it, and it's still upsetting enough that she isn't quite thinking like the minister of glass at the moment. She begins to rise up on her tail, some eight feet tall from the floor, her lips parting to show the tips of her sharp fangs. The deep, rumbling hiss that rasps from her throat does not suit her. Not in the least.
Miriam quietly directs her guards to help the Rebman guards 'urge' people to move well out of the way of the fight. For herself, she stays somewhat clear but moves towards the dais rather than away from it.
Corwin's no fishman, so Martin has the advantage there. But he is rather skilled with the use of a sword and can certainly claim his own advantage there. And the way he wields his sword at the moment is in an almost casual manner, as if this were nothing more then a simple sparring match with wooden blades, "I am rather thankful that this is not Amber, Nephew. I am not so old, though, as to be reminded of that fact." Martin's little bring it motion draws a deepening of that smirk before he's shooting off towards his nephew, his blade arching up from left to right.
"The older you get, the slower you get and you've got more than 3k on me." Martin taunts. Being of privileged instruction of the very best kind he sure does know what he's doing. He parries and the blades kind of hiss as they connect. It's ugly and it's beautiful in a strange odd way. Each blade slices through the water and connects with a little shudder and opposites...don't attract in this case. He doesn't use his usual fancy moves that one can see him do out in shadow, oh no, this is much more of a serious struggle to at the very least hold his own and maybe get in a nick or two for Rebma!
"And the older you get, Martin, the more experience you have. That does not bode well for you, does it?" Judging by how simple a swing that was, Corwin wanted those blades to connect in a fashion that lays claim to both ugly and beauty in one single display. One step forward, a twist of his wrist and a slight reverse of his arm so that he can drag his blade downwards to just .. tap Martin on the knuckles with the .. flat of his blade, "Tsk Tsk. Don't watch my blade, Nephew, It won't tell you where I'm going." Two steps back.
Fiona watches, and concentrates. She has no weapon in hand.
Anyone slipping out of the Palace at this point would see the streets of the city begin to teem with more Rebmans than there are currently flocking near the gates. Word of the reversal keeps trickling from house to house.
Syeira keeps to herself, drifting toward a quiet corner where she can watch and stay out of the way. Her gaze drifting around and then back to the conflict between Martin and Corwin.
Martin hisses, grunting as his knuckles come into contact with the blade. Shit. That smarts. Don't watch...what? He frowns suddenly. There might be bets getting placed by this time, in any case, Martin doesn't care. He's looking for a good solid opening now, a shift that would give him a way to push Corwin back and throw him off balance in the water. It's a somewhat underhanded tactic, but he is his father's son. So he parries and feints their blades continue to make that awful sound, a grisly anti-mating call in the depths of the ocean. His attacks, at present are not killing blows but geared towards disarming and distraction and even though it's almost grudging, unconscious reluctance he's actually following Corwin's instruction and not keeping his full attention on the blade. What no words this time? His feet are doing a pretty good shuffle and dance in the water... but it ain't the Macarena.
Enid leans in and whispers something to Ryika, her gaze half-fixed on the duelists. Giving the younger woman a kiss on the cheek, she works her way into the crowd and slips out.
Ryika leans up to echo the kiss on the cheek to Enid, a murmur of a comment in return before she returns her attention to the duel in progress.
Quinlan moves quietly around the fight, to float near Fiona. He probably can't help, but if he can, this seems to be where he thinks his best chance to would be.
Corwin is focused on Martin now, but he's not watching the other man's feet or blade, instead focusing on his upper body. This leads him to see the feint as it's begun, but there's limited choices that he has beneath the waves. Catch himself backpeddling and off balance, which would prove longer to recover, or allow his Nephew to score a graze. It seems the later comes to be taken, for rather then wheel away from the blow, he's turning to take the blow in a graze along his forearm, "Well done! Upper body. Shoulders. That's where your eyes need to be. And I see a grand ballad coming of this!" Rather then move to strike in at his nephew, he takes another two steps back, taunting him with the idle swing of his sword and speaking as he does so, "They stood in ranks a thousand long. High upon the mound. The Rebman legion, fierce and strong. Murmuring not a sound. The Banyan hordes below them stare. With wild fanatic eyes. They jeer the foe and beg them dare. With anger and despise."
Miriam watches the two fight, frowning. She makes her way a little closer to Meijanri, and if the undine looks her way there will be a gesture for them to speak quietly.
Dalt makes his way into the throne room slowly, not entirely adept at this whole water-for-air thing, it seems. He doesn't seem uncomfortable with the surroundings otherwise, though. His cocksure walk, even in semi-slow-motion, gives the impression of someone who feels very much a member of The Club. After looking around, he wanders towards Maggie, steering clear of the combat. Upon arriving, he whispers to her, though his eyes focus on the duellists.
Oh. What? Martin's eyebrows rise and then knit together. What the What now? He gears up his move ments to keep pushing Corwin back. But this time he uses the water again to his advantage by swinging with the current. His moves work directly with the current in kind of an elegant mnage trios twist. He's thus propelled up, and then down, taking advantage of added height as he brings his sword roughly down to attack. It also might be that he's using the elaborate move to give him time to answer Corwin's little verse challenge. "And those the water did embrace were quick and bold face to face. It was a battle closely fought, but a terrible lesson taught. You cannot imagine the awful sound of a thousand dozens as they drown." Try and Out Ballad Martin in his own place? NOT HAPPENING! Yo.
Martin clearly better at delivery and not at being a bard. Don't ask him to write his own lyrics.
Watching the duel, Maggie blinks at the verses tossed so carelessly from one to the other. When Dalt moves up to her side, she blinks, focuses on him, then leans close to whisper a reply. She does pause to hear Martin's repost a la attack, then finishes her summary of the events so far.
Say, that's not half bad, Corwin and Martin. There just so happens to be a bard among the public representatives, and he's all about the Freebies! He's been here before, too, dragged before the Throne for singing derisive ditties in the taverns. If he incorporates some of those sweet lines into his next offering, he'll totally get another pass.
Fiona rolls her eyes. "The pen is mightier than the sword," she murmurs softly. Likely only Quinlan hears.
Yes. It sure does seem like Martin's underwater advantage is pushing Corwin back. As Martin goes up, Corwin goes down. Or rather, backwards, for that's the direction he propels himself in, causing his nephew's attack to miss. There's a quick, graceful lift of his sword and he's tapping the Regent on the forearm with his sword, "No no. That was all wrong. It goes like this!" Another step back, "Come and fight you cowardly foe. Come and meet your fate. We'll cut you down, row by row. Send you to Lir's gate. With scoff and scorn the Rebmans yawn. What emptry threats you speak. We'll rip you limb from limb this morn. You're scrawny, thin and weak!" For those who are watching Corwin, now, his grip shifts upon his sword, drawing it more tightly in his grip.
Meijanri is starting to calm down, albeit slowly. She's seen some things, but this... When finally she takes note of Miriam it's from quite a ways up, still reared up on her tail. Still keeping an eye on the dueling royalty, she slowly eases herself back down with an inquisitive look.
Dalt calls out, "Half a hogshead of silver on the King."
As Meijanri lowers, Miriam waits until she's near enough for their conversation to be entirely private, then whispers.
Quinlan tilts his head, looking at his mother. Yes, he heard. His attention turns back to the duel, now...thoughtful.
Maggie glances at the fellow she was explaining things to as he calls out a bet. Leaning over, she murmers, "King?" Then she lowers her voice again and whispers a few things to the man.
Dalt laughs at something Maggie says. His reply is aimed at her, but loud enough for all to hear. "You know who I mean. Martin!" He looks now to the room in general. "Any takers?"
On Maggie's other side, Merrisol is raptly spectatoring the duel, although when voices raise he sneaks a glance to the side, and looks with vague recognition at Dalt. "What's this.. A transparent ploy to root out the disloyal?" he smirks.
Martin may have underestimated Corwin's ability to fight underwater a touch. He whips back around and attacks swiftly again and their blades clash. The sound of scratching metal rings through the palace and Martin is not having an easy time of it. There's utter concentration in his moves, which is probably why he doesn't answer again to the lyrics challenge. When he makes the attempt to do so, it distracts him and leaves an opening for Corwin to nick his shoulder as though to prove another point. No, kid you're not good enough to compose a song and fight at the same time yet! The first blood is drawn, but hardly fatal. He gives a sharp, "Ahh..." grunt when it connects. No, he did not scream like a girl. To his credit. That probably smarts a lot though. Fresh blood seeps from the wound and into the water. The wound is not deep enough to cause a rush of blood, it is only superficial...and probably deliberately so. For a moment, he might look a bit angry but he schools his features and absorbs the pain. Luckily it was not his sword arm. He follows Corwin, hoping again to find that opening he needs but this time not trying any parlor tricks and sticking to moves with calculated finesse.
Martin may have heard Dalt, but he's concentrating!
Meijanri looks between Martin and Miriam, equally concerned. One hand lifts to her mouth as she sees that blood seeping from the Regent, then to Miriam she hesitantly nods.
Miriam looks unhappy with the fight, but she seems certain of whatever she's saying to Meijanri.
Teasing, taunting movements seem to give way to ones that are now telegraphed to cause pain and draw blood. Each ring of steel is heralded by a graceful move of Corwin's body and arm as his movements begin to flow almost from instinct alone. Even the tone of his 'ballad' changes, darker undertones taking hold of the words, "It's easy up on high to gloat. But everybody knows. It's our intent to cut each throat. And leave you for the crows. But when we make our move towards. There'll be no shy nor rests. We'll plunge our sharp and bloody swords. Deep in those Banyan chests." It's almost as if he's trying to inspire Martin. Or embarass him. Silver and black clash together again, locking for a moment and there's a narrowing of his eyes before his wrist curls downwards and then inwards, drawing the point of his blade against one of Martin's thighs for another minor little wound. And further back he's pressed.
Maggie grins at Dalt, then nods as though she really should have guessed. Still... No telling how the Rebman populace will take their Regent being called a King in court. Looking over to Merrisol, she transfers the grin to him. Her own comments are cut off when Corwin draws blood. She winces and clasps her hands and leans on the railing, "Oh... ouch. That... smarts."
The discordant shrieks from the clash of Tir blade and Gram radiate from the palace, reaching the ears of the gathering populace. It might be a rock concert performed inside.. if heavy on the metal side. Beings made faintly luminous from the eventide lights reflecting off gold, glass, pearls surround the gates at varied heights, suspense held at bay by the guards. That's fine, of course. The right sort of news had better come out of the palace, that's all.
Dalt gives Merrisol a brief smile, and then watches the duellists, in particular the blood flowing into the water. A few moments later he says with evident distaste, "Is it my imagination or can we taste that?"
Miriam shakes her head slightly, in reply to Meijanri.
Meijanri frowns and looks down, shifting uncomfortably.
Fiona continues to watch, a disapproving look crossing her face.
Quinlan frowns. "We wouldn't want to draw any more sharks than are already in here, would we," he observes calmly. Raising a hand, he murmurs a spell...clearing the blood from the water.
A grimace steels Martin's face and for a moment he might look petulant but his resolve gathers around him and he rises to the challenge instead of backing down. This is -his- Place. Rebma! All his hopes and dreams rest in how he handles things today and he will not give up. His eyes gleam and in the green light the Azur blue becomes a kind of mesh of blue and sea-green tinted by the silver of his sword. The red in his leg now matches the red on his shoulder and a few more places. Is Corwin playing Iron Chef with the half-fish guy? Martin-suchi anyone? Mimic might become Regent after all. All this play and scrape makes Martin take more care with his timing and learns from every stroke, every move and parry as he studies Corwin and tries to learn from him. This tactic might be changing his luck as an opening... a minor one, appears. Did he see it or not? At first it appears that he didn't see it for he doesn't go for it right away, perhaps considering it a trick. Once again he swings around, and brings all of his force into the attack. He may have done better if he had started doing this instead of screwing around being all swag. That opening, yeah he takes that. He skewers his sword forward, ready to take a blow if it means he can land one.
Merri's just watching, usually mutable expression only flickering hints of change within a mask of rapt assurance. Nicks and cuts? No worries Marty, the tuff look is back in style.
What started near the throne has moved almost to the palace doors, Corwin having been pushed back with each passing moment. But even with that, his black blade never stopped those thrusts and parries, ripostes and feints. Each one has become increasingly more forceful then the last and when he catches that particular gleam in Martin's eyes, there's a deepening of that smirk. Another swing of his blade presents a clear opening for his nephew and even as Martin moves to take advantage, Corwin doesn't seek to block him. Maybe realization set in to late. Maybe he misread one of the movements. Either way, there's a sharp hiss and an immediate cloud of red as that silver blade makes its home deep in the flesh of his shoulder. With a shift of that smirk to a sneer, he's reaching out his free hand to grap Martin's swordarm so as to forcefully pull his nephew towards him, forcing that blade to pass through skin, muscle and tissue, only to press out through his back. There's a movement of his lips in what must be a whisper for the Regent and then? Well, he's all but kicking him away while drawing himself back and as the blade is forcefully pulled from his body, there's another sharp hiss.
So very near the doors now, it's easy for Corwin to spin and turn amidst that growing cloud of crimson and with a bound forward and a quick left, right, left slash of his sword, he's cutting into the legs of the guards guarding the way out. This at least lets him bolt-swim out past them, without them being able to give chase.
Syeira watches as everything pans out before her between Corwin and Martin. She watches with the clouds of blood in the water, seeing him turn and striking down guards. Her eyes widen watching him slice down those gaurds and Corwin swimming out, mouth opening slightly.
Blood fills the area, at first... it might not be clear if it is Martin's or Corwins. But then Martin is propelled away from Corwin and sailes back through the water like someone hit a homerun. He smashes into a wall and sort of just stays there dazed, bleeding and semi-conscious from the force of that kick. His sword, however, is the one covered in the essense of Kings.
Nerida is out there by the doors, past the guards. Probably /not/ a safe place to be standing!
And the stunned guards start rushing after Corwin!
Quinlan is not interested in joining any fight. But he does cast his magic again, to separate the blood out of the water, pulling it into a glistening red sphere. Who'd want to *breathe* blood? Ew.
Miriam's eyebrows rise high as she watches the exchange, and she smiles as her blade goes into Corwin. Though, there's also a look of fascination as Corwin's the one that makes that happen to such a degree. She can't help but frown as the guards are attacked, of course, and then she's headed towards Martin.
Meijanri pushes herself up off the floor and darks up toward Martin, but stops well short of him and starts to circle, unsure if she's allowed to interfere, "Regent? Martin?"
Fiona's gaze is inscrutible as Corwin makes his escape. She relaxes somewhat, as she moves over towards Martin.
RPG: Fiona stops radiating Order.
Martin is alive, has a few cuts and superficial wounds. Key point. Martin is alive. He says, "Mostly." with kind of a half smile at Meijanri.
Outside, the people Martin has just championed are kind of ringed around the Palace, but not like the Who's down in Whoville. A bleeding Corwin fleeing through the courtyard? If the guards let him through, they do too. (They are all poets, and they don't know its.)
Meijanri smiles with relief, reaching an arm behind Martin's back, "I think you won, Martin. I ought to bite you for worrying me like that." Her smile widens but she doesn't try to move him, instead just offering support.
Quinlan coughs. "Uh, Meij? Could I trouble you for a bottle or jar I can stick this into?" Floating over his other hand is a glisteny red sphere of the blood that's been sphered.
Seeing that Martin is mostly intact, Miriam looks over the Rebman people watching, smiles, and calls out to them. "Corwin came to bully Rebma, and Rebma would not stand aside for him! Our Regent stood in his way, and proved his strength, and his love for us and for Faiella!" Then, she starts encouraging them to chant Martin's name.
Martin has a hard time straightening up, he may have cracked a rib against that wall but he shoulders the pain to rise to his full height and look out over the crowd. Many are wide-eyed and not sure what to say. He coughs, but at least there is no blood. "Ugh." He gathers his strength back together as he tries to get his wind back. He's breathing heavily from the encounter. He doesn't let her support him, preferring instead to move on his own back towards the throne. He does thank her, though. "I'm ok." He assures and doesn't pay much attention to anyone until he gets here. Once he gets to the throne he raises the sword in the air, complete with Corwin's blood. "For REBMA!" He cries out.
Dalt watches the end and aftermath of the duel with a bemused grin.
Maggie watches the ending of that duel and the grim grasp she has on her own hands eases. "Martin." It is softly spoken, not intended to catch his attention, but the relief in her voice might carry. Hearing Martin's cry, she can't help it. She starts a cheer! "For Rebma! For Martin!" Hey, he did it, right? Right.
Meijanri reaches into her jacket and withdraws a small glass vial with a nice stopper. She is the minister of glass, and if she does not have glasswares on her at all times, she is not doing her job. "Here," she says as she offers it to Quinlan. Turning toward the throne, she joins Maggie's cheer, "For Martin!"
Syeira starts to slip from the corner, gracefully and slowly swimming toward the exit. A little movement here, a little slipping by everyone there. The chanting of the crowd, cheering, leaving her a path or two to take to inch her way toward the way out.
At first there are murmers in the crowd with some jostling for position to see just where the Amberite Prince fled. Then, Martin's cry is heard and smiles begin to appear on faces. One nudges another and answering cries rise from that side of the room, "For REBMA!"
Fiona keeps an eye on Martin, with only a quick murmur to Quinlan. A nod of her head to Quinlan and to Martin, and then Fiona too slips back out of view, to where a trump can be studied.
Caught up in the hard-won victory, the city folk who came to protest to Martin now cheer for him, and a couple dart off to take up the cry from the outer windows, so that those waiting beyond the gates can learn the outcome of the duel and take heart.
Fiona concentrates upon a Trump, and begins to fade away.
Martin cries out again at the top of his lungs, a battle cry that thunders through the waters and threatens to shake the very foundations of the sea. "REBMA!" He looks to one side of the crowd and then the other, repeating the call. His voice gets louder as he cries out, throwing all his heart and soul into the cry. Like any great slow motion ending, you get to watch the guy with the bloody sword at the end kind of clinging to consciousness and strength though he really ought to be patched up... uhm soon. Those will be some scars.
Merrisol stands from his seat in the gallery and roars, "REBMA!" Yee-haw.
Quinlan grins at Meijanri. "Thanks." Taking the vial, he opens it and the bloody sphere pours itself inside. Looking around as he seals it, and seeing that the victory howls are beginning, it looks rather like he, too, thinks it's a good time to make a quiet exit.
A few eyes turn and mark Syeira as she slips by.. the one who entered on Corwin's arm. Most are totally distracted, however.
Meijanri doesn't even notice Quinlan's departure as she thrusts her fist in the... water? and shouts, "For Rebma!" Hell of a set of lungs on her.
Miriam joins the rest in shouting, though she also rests a hand on Mrtin's arm and nods towards the throne. As in, maybe he should go sit down and be tended. She'll give some help getting there, if needed.
Dalt does not join in on the chanting. He does look around for a drink and one of those special mugs for it. Fairly resourceful... if there's one nearby, he soon finds it.
Syeira drifts toward the door, those that do notice her she wiggles her fingers at and beams a bright grin, a drink from her own bottle that she brought, nope nothing to see here. The rest she just slips past, moving toward the exit.
Martin glances at Miriam as she speaks and looks like he finally realizes something oh ... ".... Court is over!" He lets her take him back to the throne, gets his scabbard and sort of grunts as he sits. Ugh. Yeah, you try and fight superman and see what happens.
The palace staff, having heard their Regent give voice to that cry take their cue and begin bringing tray after tray of drinks to offer around. Then they hear the announcement that court is over and the drinks flow more freely. Well. Carefully contained in clever bottles, at any rate.
Previous Princess Protection program null and void. New Protection program ... Ryika Ygrayne is It.
Miriam gets Martin to the throne, and promptly gestures to the staff for a large drink for their Regent. And one for her as well. Oh, and for a doctor. Martin could probably use one of those.
As the booze begins to flow, people pick up drink bottles and begin to mingle. Conversational topics range from 'Isn't Martin dreamy?' to 'Totally bad-ass swordsmanship!' to 'But what about Faeilla?' Sort of like 'What about Naomi' but different. Off in one corner a band begins to set up. The Sirens warm up as the floogalphone players tune up.
Merrisol catches Maggie up in a rawr-victory hug, smiling, then releases her and does vault the rail then. He settles on the main floor, glances at Martin with a briefly wagged point-finger. Had us going there for a bit! - but leaves him his space to be attended by the physician and Miriam, and probably still thronged by admirers, and heads over to talk to the public reps.
Maggie returns the hug with enthusiasm all rar-yay! Not to mention filled with relief. Her hair, loose in the water, swirls an arch of firey color around them. This settles as Merri releases her so he can vault the railing. She smiles one of those goofy smiles as she watches him head off. A soft sigh and a blink and she comes back down from where ever she was to survey the crowd below. Martin? She gives him a thumbs up and a grin for being so awesome. The thumbs up turns to a wave toward Miriam. Sailing up and out of the gallery, she angles downward to land near enough to Miriam to speak quietly, "Need anything?"
So much going on in the throne room seems to be making for a little more chaos than the Regent can really handle just now, what with the bleeding and any mental exhaustion from facing down Corwin. Seeing that, Miriam speaks quietly to the staff and summoned doctor and they all start getting Martin back to his suite to rest properly. And more alcohol is ordered. Much more.
Privately, to Maggie, Merrisol does seem genuinely happy for the outcome, but there's a thoughtfulness beyond that, as his mind turns to the bigger picture.
Miriam smiles to Maggie, as she sets about getting Martin relocated. "I'm just going to get him settled in, so he can really rest. He certainly deserves it. You're well?"
Privately, to Merrisol, Maggie is relieved and happy that Martin is not dead. So happy about that. It is unlikely that the bigger picture has hit her over the head yet. Though she does note Merrisol's thoughtfulness.
Martin looks like he'll live and he smiles at Maggie and in Merrisol's direction. He's in good hands and he gives a thumbs up. Ugh. Note to self: Know your limits.
Maggie hovers a few feet above the floor. She nods to Miriam, then smiles at Martin, "Right. I won't keep you. I am fine, Miriam, thank you. We can talk later, though. After you get Martin taken care of."
Merrisol mental images Martin practicing his battle-rapping in the mirror.
Maggie laughs!
Martin probably will!
Miriam nods in reply to Maggie. "I'd like that. I'll stay in my rooms here tonight. If I'm too tired once Martin is tended and tucked away, we'll speak tomorrow?" she says.
Merrisol makes certain the good citizens get a round of the drinks, and listens at length to the points of their erstwhile petition, followed-up by their glad statements of relief that it did not come to their turn in Court before the Regent's great display of leadership.
Maggie nods to Miriam, "That would work, certainly. Though I need to track down Meijanri before the day is over. But, I will look for you before heading out." She smiles and drifts back a way to give the others room to go their own way without crowding them. "Good night, if that is where you end up, Miriam." Lifting her gaze and her voice just a bit, she adds, "Good night, Martin. See you tomorrow, I hope."
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Gossip BW1: Wed Jan 22 00:52:23 2014 by Merrisol (public)
GL-Rebma: intensity ubiquitous, trace cost 1, expires 19 Mar
Title: Rock'n'Rule
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Every realm has clueless denizens of whom it is wondered if they live under rocks, but in the great underwater city, some clearly literally do. So it was to the shouting and swishing of multitudes in the streets that they emerged, and feared the riots had already begun. But... no! These were happy grins, that was drunken singing, those were exultant cries of REBMA! And MARTIN! What happened? From whence came this strange reversal, in the space of one night and day?
A.. duel? It was said that Prince Corwin attended the session of Court called by Martin to address the issue of the Princess' decreed removal to Banyan, whereupon the Regent informed the former Amberite King that he could take their agreement and shove it. That the Regent had.. for love of his subjects.. changed his mind. This demonstration of enlightened rule had infuriated the Ruler of Banyan, and his evil black sword crossed with the silver blade of Tir as Martin swore to defend the will of the Rebman People...
But, ah - the bard in that tavern there witnessed the bloody battle that tore up and down the Deep Throne Room, with many a mocking snark passed between combatants. One had best go listen to his faithful retelling of the epic fight that saw Corwin fleeing with one arm nearly hacked off, and Martin standing in victory with Miriam of Tir at his side. No children allowed, though, for this version's got some smut. Princess Fiona was heard to say there was 'penis might in their swords'! And who could deny that?
THIS IS REBMA.
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